The storm eased by the time Elena and Adrian approached the edge of the northern ruins, but the world still smelled of wet stone and danger—like the night itself was holding its breath.
A pale moon broke through the clouds, lighting the broken archways and the crumbling remnants of a civilization her mother once protected. Elena felt the air shift the moment they crossed into the old boundary, as if something ancient stirred beneath the earth, recognizing the last blood of its keeper.
Adrian walked slightly ahead, blades sheathed but tension loud in every step. He kept glancing back at her—quietly attentive, unwilling to stray too far.
"Are you cold?" he asked softly.
"No," she murmured, though her pulse trembled. "Just… listening."
"To what?"
She swallowed. "Everything."
The land thrummed with a low, broken heartbeat. Shadows flickered between columns. The wind moved like it was carrying whispers instead of air.
Her mother's sanctuary.
Her inheritance.
Her warning.
